


OT3 Advent Calendar 2013

by solrosan



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Advent Calendar, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-04 02:21:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 12,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solrosan/pseuds/solrosan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Johnockary Advent Calendar for 2013.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Making Christmas plans.

**Author's Note:**

> This was just supposed to be Tumblr ficlets (hence they are all un-betaed and written in about 30 min to 1h) but since people forgot how to use tags I'm moving everything here to avoid any more spoilers.

”We need to talk.”

John looked up from his computer – _The Case of the Furious Ladybugs_ was almost written up – to find Mary looking at him with a serious expression on her face. He couldn’t help frowning, that phrase never lead to anything good.

”What are we doing for Christmas?”

John chuckled in relief. “I don’t know.”

”What do you usually do?”

”Oh, ehm…” John frowned again. “Nothing, really.”

Mary looked disappointed. “You must do _something._ It’s Christmas.”

”Ehm, we threw a Christmas Eve party once,” John said. “But it didn’t go very well, it ended with a ruined marriage and a trip to the morgue. So we try not to do that anymore.”

Mary’s eyes widened, so John added hastily. “It was during the Irene Adler case I told you about.”

”Not sure that makes it better,” Mary said, smiling cautiously. “You don’t want to, I don’t know, go home for Christmas? Be with Harry, or Sherlock with Mycroft or something like that?”

John chuckled again. “I have to twist Sherlock’s arm to get him to even get Mycroft a Christmas present, and Harry,” he sighed and shook his head, “no, I’d much rather spend Christmas here.”

”So no Christmas plans?”

”No.” John shook his head. “Why? Do you have anything you’d like to…?”

”Mmm.” Mary chewed slightly on her lip. “I was sort of hoping to use you two as an excuse to not go home for Christmas.”

John sighed in relief, having half expecting Mary to ask them to go to her parents’ for Christmas or something like that. “Then it’s settled,” he said, smiling. “We’re spending Christmas at Baker Street. Whatever that means.”

”Oh, I’m sure I’ll figure that out,” Mary said, smiling mysteriously.

John raised his eyebrows, not sure he liked the look or sound of that, but decided not to ask and instead turn back to his blog.


	2. Writing Christmas cards

In the era of internet and social media there was something to be said about the friendships held together by the gum on a Christmas card stamp. Sherlock didn’t know what that something was exactly, but he was sure it was something and he was sure it had to do with sentiment.

He went through the pile of Christmas card Mary had bought the other day to send to friends and family, frowning at almost every single one of the red and glitter-sprinkled pictures. Nothing seemed to say ‘I haven’t forgotten about you completely’ as singing snowmen and cats with Santa hats. Close to the bottom of the pile there was a card with a picture of a snow-covered London. It was a rather cheesy, touristy picture, showing the Thames, Westminster Bridge and, of course, the Palace of Westminster, but compared to the other holiday monstrosities it felt almost blissful. He turned the card around, finding the back free from pre-printed holiday greetings and he nodded approvingly.

”I thought you might take to that one,” Mary said with a smile, leaning over his shoulder.

”Do you mind if I use this?” he asked.

”Not at all. That’s what it’s for.”

Sherlock nodded thoughtfully, getting up to find a pen and John’s computer so he could get the address. It took him less than five minutes to do both, but he sat for a long time with just the address of the recipient written on the card. What did you write to someone you hadn’t spoken to in years? Maybe that was the beauty of Christmas cards, that you could acknowledge the importance of someone without actually having to put words to it? What a ridiculous notion!

Deciding to not overthink neither the motive of his action nor what to put on the card he simply wrote:

_Merry Christmas, Victor.  
Sherlock Holmes_

He looked at the few words, frowning as Mary started to hum Christmas carols in the kitchen. He sighed quietly, adding at the bottom of the card:

_PS If you’re ever in London feel free to stop by, there are two people here I want you to meet. The address is 221B Baker Street._


	3. Gift Planning

Mary glared at Sherlock. ”You’re not even trying.”

”I would if I saw any point in doing this,” Sherlock said, glaring back at her over the sitting-room table. John sat quietly, putting most of his energy into not looking amused and hoping that the others wouldn’t remember that he was there.

”It’s Christmas. That’s the point.”

”You keep saying that, but it’s not a valid argument.”

”It is too!”

”John,” they both said, and John sighed mentally as they both turned to him.

”Your husband is a stubborn idiot.”

”Your wife is completely unreasonable!”

John looked between them. “My mug is empty,” he said, getting up. “Anyone else want a refill?”

Sherlock and Mary sighed, both shaking their heads. John wasn’t quite sure if it was because they didn’t want tea or because they were disappointed in his response. Quite frankly, he didn’t care.

”Seriously, John,” Mary said, sighing, when he came back to the sitting room. “What should we get Greg for Christmas?”

”I don’t really know,” John said, trying his damn hardest to look like he was concerned about this.

”So it’s up to me – who’s known him the shortest amount of time – to figure it out what to give him?”

”I don’t understand why we have to give him anything,” Sherlock muttered.

”Because it’s Christmas!” Mary yelled, slamming her hand in the table.

John and Sherlock stared at her, both a little bit frightened.

”He needs a new set of kitchen knives?” Sherlock tried tentatively, almost expecting Mary to blow up again. Instead her dark eyes turned bright again and she smiled.

”Perfect,” she said, writing it down on the list in front of her. “Now, what are we getting Molly?”


	4. Decorations

Mary sat on the floor with a carbon box in front of her. Her disapproving frown grew deeper the longer she looked through it.

”This can’t be everything,” she finally said, looking up at John who had been standing next to her, watching, the entire time. “There are just a couple of light chains and some sad tinsel.”

”Isn’t Bill’s Christmas hat there?” John said, looking down the box.

”You mean this one?” Mary asked, holding up the Christmas hat, and sighed. John took the hat and walked over to the mantelpiece to put it on its owner. It was far too large for the poor scull and made it disappear completely.

“Honestly, John, this is pathetic,” Mary said.

John shrugged, smiling slightly. “We’re not really Christmasy people.”

”That much I’ve noticed.”

”Sherlock scraped together the stuff in the box our first Christmas at Baker Street to ward off Mrs Hudson.”

”What are you going to ‘scrape together’ to ward off me?”

”Hopefully we won’t have to ward off you at all,” he said, smiling, and got down on the floor with her. “It’s just… neither of us as ever really did Christmas. I mean, you’ve met Mycroft, can you imagine what a Christmas dinner would have been like at the Holmes’ when they were kids?”

Mary acted a terrified shudder.

”Exactly.” John couldn’t help that he smirked a bit before going on. “And you’ve know my family, Christmas has never been much more than a reason for my parents to get drunk with my aunts.”

Mary took his hand, squeezing it lightly as if to say that she was sorry. John smiled and kissed her hand.

”Christmas has never really been a thing either of us looked forward to, that’s all,” he said. “I supposed we haven’t seen the point before.”

Mary smiled. “But you do now?”

”It’s starting to become clearer.”

”Good,” Mary said, leaning in to kiss him. “Because we really need to buy new Christmas decorations.”


	5. Decorations II

”Sherlock,” Mary called from where she was standing on the sitting room table. “Since you’re the only one of us blessed with height, could you _please_ come here and help me?”

”John can use a chair,” Sherlock said without looking up from his research paper. 

”Sherlock.”

Sherlock tossed the paper on the sofa next to him, ready to sigh and roll his eyes, but the sight of Mary on the table, reaching out over the window trying to get the curtains up made him smile.

”Fine,” he said, pulling up a chair to the window to help her out. “But I still don’t see the point in this.”

”You don’t have to,” Mary said, giving his cheek a light kiss as they were done. She reached out her hand to him. “Now help a lady down.”

Sherlock took her hand and held it while she jumped off the table. Mary backed away from the windows and smiled as she looked at what she had managed in just an afternoon. There were new curtains, a Christmas star and exactly none of the sad tinsel from last year.

”Very nice,” John said from the floor where he had been put on untangling-the-light-chains duty. He’d been at it for about an hour at this point. Sherlock poked suspiciously at the star hanging from the window. For a Christmas decoration it was quite modest, but that wasn’t saying much.

”It’s not a piñata, Sherlock,” Mary said, giggling, as Sherlock kept poking at the star.

Sherlock shrugged and got down from the chair. “Are we done?”

”No,” John said, holding up a still very tangled light chain. “I will sort these out and we will put them up even if it’s going to kill me.”

Mary patted John gently on the top of his head. “That’s the Christmas spirit I’ve been looking for.”

Sherlock took the opportunity to roll his eyes this time and sat down with his research paper again. Every now and then he glanced up from it, evaluating the progress John was making with the light chains and making sure he knew what type of holiday mischief Mary was up to while she was walking around the flat humming carols. When John finally jumped up with a triumphant victory cry Sherlock put down the paper again and all three of them help with hanging them all over the sitting room.


	6. Meeting Father Christmas

Children were crying, parents were arguing, teenagers with their mobiles were filming everything, laughing, and somewhere in the background the soundtrack to Love Actually was playing. This could undoubtedly be the loudest a case had ever ended.

Sherlock, John and Mary were standing a bit away from the centre of the chaos where DS Donovan was escorting a handcuffed man dresses as Father Christmas from the department store. Lestrade looked over their way, giving them a tried smile and a slight shake of the head. Mary and John both nodded, mirroring his tired smile, but Sherlock didn’t move a muscle.

”Well, that’s about thirty childhoods ruined in one blow,” Mary said, still smiling weary.

”The man was a sadistic murderer,” Sherlock said. “Would you have preferred that we’d let him escape?”

”Of course not,” Mary sounded insulted, but then she sighed. “But all these children… having Father Christmas manhandled away like a criminal? I’m not sure this one will go in the Good Karma-column. We could have waited until tonight.”

”At least John didn’t have to shoot him.”

John cleared his throat rather loudly, glaring up at Sherlock.

”Oh, don’t be paranoid,” said Sherlock, frowning. “It’s not like anyone has the time to notice what you have tucked behind your back – or for that matter hear what we’re saying in this chaos.”

”Still,” John mumbled. “Be quiet.”

Sherlock shrugged, turning his attention back to the scene. “We should probably go before Lestrade gets the idea that he needs us to stay.”

The other two nodded

”We can go home and make eggnogs,” Mary said as they discretely started to move away from the scene.

John chuckled. ”Because nothing makes ruined childhoods move to the Good Karma-column as seasonal alcohol?”

”Something like that,” Mary said, hooking her arm in his and giving his cheek a kiss. “But aren’t you the one saying we shouldn’t giggle at crime scenes?”


	7. Plotting

“He seriously wears these?” Mary said, holding up the third knitted holiday jumper that she had pulled out from John’s closet.

Sherlock, sitting on John and Mary’s bed, nodded.

”I’ve always thought he got them from Harry or someone as a gag.”

”Sadly, no.”

“We might have to stage an intervention,” Mary said, tossing the jumper on the bed with the other two before pulling out another one with a frown. “Or at least throw these away.”

”I can get rid of them.”

”I’m sure you can,” Mary said, amused by how eager he sounded. “But I’d rather not have you try different kinds of lighter fluid on them, or whatever you were planning.”

Sherlock huffed. ”I wasn’t planning to do any of the sort.”

Mary raised her eyebrows.

”I wasn’t.”

”What, then?”

”I know a place to… take them,” Sherlock said, diverting his eyes to the jumpers.

”’Take them’?”

”Not important.” Sherlock did a dismissive gesture with his hand.

Mary looked suspiciously at him. “You’re not going to do anything illegal, right?”

”Obviously not.”

”When it comes to you keeping everything on the right side of the law nothing is ever ‘obvious’, my dear Mr Holmes,” Mary said, putting her hands on her hips.

Sherlock sighed. “It’s nothing illegal.”

”Then why won’t you tell me?”

”Because it’s not important,” Sherlock said, putting extra emphasis on the last two words. “Are we getting rid of the jumpers or not?”

Mary studied him closely for a moment, but then she smiled and shrugged. “Okay, if that’s the way you want it. I won’t ask anything else, _if_ … you take the blame when John finds out we’ve got rid of them.”

Sherlock contemplated it for a moment before nodding. “Fine, but we’ll tell him I actually _did_ try lighter fluids on them.”

”If you say so,” Mary said, giggling as she started to remove the hangers so she could fold the jumpers, already planning how she would be able to figure out what he was going to do with the jumpers without any of her men finding out.


	8. Watching Christmas lights

Mary and John both looked dubiously after Sherlock as he pulled down a fire ladder and started to climb up the outside of the building. Halfway up he looked down at them.

”Come on,” he urged them and didn’t start to climb again until he saw that both John and Mary had started to follow him. He gracefully made his way all the way to the roof and looked down at his partners who made their way up slowly but steadily. He reached out a hand to help first John and then Mary get over the edge.

”I really don’t have the shoes for this,” Mary said as she regained her balance . She pointed at her high heels. “For future references: this is ‘sitting down’-shoes or potentially ‘stand still’-shoes, if they have to be. They are not ‘climb a building’-shoes.”

”Why are we on a roof, Sherlock?” John said, both his posture and his voice were tense.

Sherlock smiled faintly, reaching out to take his hand. He knew what made John tense, what created that wrinkle on his forehead, but he was done apologising now and all he needed to do was to assure John that they were all safe.

”This way,” Sherlock said, leading John by the hand to the other side of the roof. “Look,” he said, pointing out over London as Mary had come up to stand on the other side of him.

”It’s amazing, Sherlock,” Mary breathed. The men nodded their agreement, the sight of London from the rooftop with all the Christmas lights was an amazing sight.

”Just wait until New Year’s,” Sherlock said. “I know a perfect roof to watch the fireworks from.”

”Why haven’t you shown me that before?” John teased.

”You’ve always been out with your girlfriends on New Year’s,” Sherlock said. John looked rather horrified, but Mary giggled.

”Are you planning to do the same this year, John?” she wondered.

”If no one tells me what has happened to my jumpers I just might.”

Mary and Sherlock looked perfectly innocent and all of a sudden completely absorbed by the view.

”Oh, look! Umbrellas!” Mary pointed at a street that they barely could make out through the houses. She bumped Sherlock’s shoulder. “I didn’t know city decorations was something your brother did as well.”

Sherlock looked where she pointed and hid a laugh in a snort.

”What?”

Sherlock cleared his throat. ”Nothing.”

”I don’t think we believe you,” Mary said after exchanging a look with John.

”Mycroft _despises_ all the Christmas lights.” Sherlock had taken out his mobile and didn’t even try to hide his amusement now. “So at some point when I was talking to his secretary—“

”I think that woman knows more ways to kill you than I do, Sherlock,” John said.

”—I suggested that if she ever got really frustrated with him she should make all the Christmas lights spell out his name.”

”So you think the umbrellas are her doing?”

”Positive,” Sherlock said, smiling and still doing something on his phone.

”Perhaps you’re the one who should get a date on New Year’s,” John teased.

”Don’t be ridiculous, John.” Sherlock put his mobile back in his pocket. “You two are about as much as I can handle.”


	9. Secret keeping

John brought up the mail when he got home from the surgery, because the other two could never be arsed to do it. He went through the small stack that Mrs Hudson had made for them – they mostly just got bills, but recently a couple of Christmas cards from Mary’s acquaints also turned up. Today there was one bill and two cards. The first card was from someone who John vaguely recognised as Mary’s friend from university and the second one was addressed to Mr Sherlock Holmes.

John turned the card around, looking at the picture – a snow covered nativity play, not really Sherlock at all – before looking at the back again. The actual message on the card said:

_Dear Mr Holmes,  
the Shildts Foundation would like to thank you for your annual donation. Your contribution is as well needed as always and we will earmark the money to the causes you’ve requested. As always your donation will be kept anonymous, but we’re all looking forward to seeing you at the Mymble Shelter on the 23 rd as usual._

_Merry Christmas  
Sophia and the Shildts Foundation._

John stared at the card, completely ignoring that he was reading what appeared to be very private mail – after about the eleventh time Sherlock had read his e-mail correspondence John had started to ignore that social taboo. He didn’t understand what the card was actually saying and he was still reading it as he stepped into the sitting room.

”Any Christmas cards?” Mary asked as soon as she saw him.

”Yes, you got one from some… Theresa,” John said, handing her the card. Then he held up the other card, looking at Sherlock who was reading on the sofa. “You got one too.”

Sherlock lowered his research article, frowning.

”Who’s Sophia and what’s the Shildts Foundation?” John asked, his eyebrows raised.

The colour disappeared from Sherlock’s face and he sat up to snatch the card from John, but John held it out of reach.

”Give me that!” Sherlock demanded.

”I can google it or you can tell me.”

Sherlock sighed deeply. He pushed his lips together and his eyes darted between John and Mary who both were looking at him now.

”Sherlock?” John said when the silence had almost reached the uncomfortable mark.

”Fine,” Sherlock said with another sigh, but still he seemed to fight with himself to get the words out. He took one last deep breath. “The Shildts Foundation runs seven homeless shelters in London and specialises in helping young drug addicts. Each year I donate whatever I’ve managed to put aside.”

”Oh…” John said, his eyes widening as the realisation dawned on him.

”Yes,” Sherlock said, nodding to confirm what John was thinking before turning to Mary. “I stayed at one of their shelters for about half a year.”

Mary stared.

Sherlock turned back to John, holding out his hand. ”Now can I have my card?”

Without a word John handed over the card.

”They are trying to start up a needle exchange program, because the one the city provides isn’t efficient enough,” Sherlock said after reading the card. “That’s where I asked them to put most of the money this year.”

”Sherlock,” Mary started quietly. 

”I’m clean,” Sherlock interrupted, meeting her eyes with great determination.

”Good.” Mary nodded, smiling slightly. “But I wasn’t going to ask that.”

”What, then?”

Mary shrugged, finding it a bit hard to find the words, but she still smiled. “I don’t know, but I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of anything than I am of you right now.”

Sherlock blinked, and for the first time ever John got to see Sherlock blush.


	10. Nobel Day

The table in the sitting room was laid with a white cloth and Mrs Hudson’s best tableware, three candles were lit and a violin recording was playing in the background. Sherlock frowned instinctively.

”Oh, you’re home,” Mary said softly, coming down the stairs wearing a long, red dress and the jewellery she had worn at the wedding. “Happy Nobel Day, Sherlock.”

”It’s not a holiday,” Sherlock said, his protest sounding rather weak.

”You don’t think Christmas is a holiday either,” John yelled from the kitchen. “So we’ve decided to not listen to you when it comes to this.”

Mary patted Sherlock on the arm as she walked past him to the kitchen because he looked utterly confused.

”How’s it going?” Mary asked John.

”You know, after finding those pearl onions the rest seems like a piece of cake – so to speak.” He looked very pleased with himself and wiped his hands on the apron before turning to Mary. “Wow. You look…”

”Thank you.” Mary curtsied. “You may take it off later. Now, tell me what to do so you two can go and change.”

”Most is done, so just make sure nothing burns or explodes.”

Mary stuck out her tongue. ”Who do you think I am? Sherlock?”

”Decorate the plates, the rest is done,” John said, giving her cheek a kiss. “We’ll be down in about ten minutes.”

With that he left the kitchen, taking Sherlock under the arm and leading him upstairs to change.

”I thought we as a nation had evolved beyond changing before dinner,” Sherlock said, looking rather condescendingly at the white tie.

John chuckled. “Just shut up and change.”

Sherlock snorted, but didn’t protest any further and with an ease that made John think Sherlock was more than used to this kind of clothing he changed out of his suit and into the white tie.

”Look at my men!” Mary exclaimed, putting her hands over her mouth for a moment. “You look fantastic!”

”We had to match you,” John said, giving her another kiss on the cheek.

”What is all this about?” Sherlock asked, almost managing to bite back a sigh.

”It’s our own Nobel Dinner,” Mary said, smiling from ear to ear. “I know neither of you really do Christmas, but Sherlock, you’ve been reading about those laureates ever since they were announced and I thought… well, Happy Nobel Day!”

Sherlock stared at them, John smiled almost a wide as Mary.

”For dinner,” John said, showing the table, “is my interpretation of the 2011 Nobel Banquet menu.”

”You’ve cooked?” Sherlock sounded suspicious.

”Between the three of us I’m a goddamn master chef, so shut up,” John said. He pulled out the chair for Mary and after she had sat down he pulled out the chair for Sherlock as well. “As entrée we have lobster with pickled winter vegetables and Jerusalem artichoke purée, which is exactly by the recipe, just so you know.”

”Happy Nobel Day,” Mary said again, this time handing Sherlock an envelope. Sherlock took it, far beyond the point where he could protest about how ridiculous this was. The Nobel Prize wasn’t at all about the banquet for him, it wasn’t about the artificial royal glory or the fancy food. It was about the discoveries and the few times intelligence and science were celebrated. This was still completely overwhelming and he didn’t know what to do.

Inside the envelope he found three tickets. To Stockholm. He looked up, his mouth slightly opened but couldn’t say anything for the life of him.

”I know it’s wrong,” Mary said quickly. “It’s for New Year’s and everything will be over, but we’re going to stay at Grand Hotel and I have managed to get the suite Dan Scechtman stayed in and I’ve checked that at least the Nobel museum is opened and I think it will be able to visit the City Hall.”

Sherlock shook his head, staring at the tickets.

”Do you like it?” Mary asked, almost whispered.

Sherlock nodded. “This is… amazing.” He looked up with a tentative smile. “Thank you, both of you.”

Mary and John smiled, popping the cork of the champagne bottle. Christmas suddenly seemed very small in comparison to the expression on Sherlock’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really, really can't leave out Sherlock Is A Fanboy. I'm sorry.


	11. Wrapping gifts

John looked at Mary who was sitting on the floor of the bedroom surrounded by wrapping paper, ribbons, bags, boxes, pens and stickers. Somewhere in the mayhem John was sure the actual gifts were as well, but he’d be damned if he saw any.

”Is it safe to entre?” he wondered.

”Define ‘safe’,” she said, looking up with a grin. “Your present is already wrapped, if that’s what you’re asking.”

John smiled and got down on the floor next to her. “Why do you always sit on the floor? Aren’t you too too old for this?”

”Ah!” Mary looked horrified, pressing one hand against her chest. “You take that back, mister! I happen to be the youngest one in this room.”

”And the prettiest,” John said, smiling and leaning in to give her cheek a kiss.

She smiled, handing him the headphones they had bought for Mrs Hudson. “Make yourself useful and wrap this.”

”Yes, ma’am.” He saluted her and looked around for paper and some scissors, pointedly ignoring that the face she made at the salute.

”Is this yet another protest against the kitchen lab?” Sherlock said, suddenly standing in the doorway.

”Yes,” Mary said, smiling widely. “Or it’s because the floor is larger than the table top.”

Sherlock huffed, but sat down on the floor with them, his back against the bed.

”You really do spend too much time on the floor for an adult woman, Mary,” he said.

”Ha!” John said, pointing at Mary, but quickly turning back to the wrapping at Mary’s glare.

”You’re in no position to talk, Mr I-Sulk-Like-A-Five-Year-Old-When-I-Don’t-Get-My-Way,” Mary said, turning back to Sherlock and holding out the X-file Blu-ray collectors’ edition box neither she nor John understood why he insisted to get Mycroft. ”If you help us I will get off the floor faster,” 

Sherlock gave the Blu-ray box a condescending glare and huffed. Mary patted his knee and put the box in his lap.

”I suppose there is no idea to ask what’s the point of this is,” Sherlock muttered, reaching for some green wrapping paper and golden ribbon.

”You’re learning,” Mary said, kissing her hand and putting it on Sherlock’s hand. “And we just have three more to go with that one, and then we can make some eggnog.”

John smirked. ”Christmas is really just a big excuse for you to drink eggnog, isn’t it?”

”Yes,” Mary said, sounding dead serious. ”That and a reason to wear my snowman earring.”


	12. Christmas songs

Mary was humming Christmas songs in the kitchen, something that had become even more common these last days than eggnog. She didn’t have the best singing voice, but she wasn’t out of tune. Recently _Let it Snow_ seemed to have stuck on her mind, which was unfortunate since John knew the lyrics and sometimes felt to join in.

Sherlock picked up his violin, finding his always misplaced bow on the mantelpiece. He let Mary hum the chorus again to be sure what key she pretended to use and then he started to play the melody. Mary became instantly quiet, but when she heard what it was he was playing she smiled and started to hum again.

When the song ended and Sherlock lowered his violin Mary applauded, but Sherlock frowned disapprovingly.

”That was lovely,” Mary said, smiling. “I didn’t know you knew that one.”

”I don’t.” Sherlock looked at the violin as if it had betrayed him. “I was completely off and missed about half of it.”

”I didn’t notice it.”

”You allow John to sing in your presence,” Sherlock said. “You’re practically tone deaf.”

Mary giggled. “Be nice.”

Sherlock lifted his violin with just a glare at Mary. He closed his eyes for a moment, his fingers not completely sure on where to start because it was a long time since he had played this melody, but then he opened his eyes and started to play _In the Bleak Midwinter._ When he was done he took a deep breath and continued on to _Hark! The Herald Angels Sing._

In the middle of _God Rest You Merry, Gentlmen_ John came downstairs. Sherlock raised his eyebrows to acknowledge him, but didn’t let it interrupt the playing. Mary on the other hand put a finger to her lips to make sure John was quiet, then she patted on the spot next to her on the sofa where she was curled up under a blanket. John gladly obeyed, making sure that he could share the blanket with her as he sat down.

After another two songs – Mary properly snuggled up in John’s arms by this time – Mrs Hudson came tiptoeing up the stairs. Both John and Mary waved at her to come and join them on the sofa.

”I just thought I’d come and hear some of the music,” she whispered, her smile and the way she looked at Sherlock as she sat down reminded the other two of a proud mother.

Sherlock kept playing for almost forty minutes until his fingers started to protest, not used to longer stretches of playing anymore since Mary had put an end to his all-nighters. His small but spellbound audience needed a moment to realise that it was over, but when they did they all smiled and the women applauded quietly. Not quite sure what to do Sherlock bowed slightly, muttering something about the ridiculous nonsense that had been beaten into his memory at his public school. Everyone on the sofa, however, agreed that this was the most Christmasy Baker Street had ever felt.


	13. Exchanging gifts

John took a deep breath before ringing his sister’s doorbell. Something inside dropped on the floor, two women screamed and Harry yelled “Just a second!” before the door was finally opened.

By Clara Shaw-Watson.

”Shit,” Clara said, her face losing all its colour so fast John thought she was going to faint and reached out to support her.

”This was a surprise,” he said, smiling slightly, and letting go of his former sister-in-law when it was clear that she would remain on her feet.

”Damn! What are you doing here?” Harry came to see who was at the door, carrying a baking sheet in an oven mittened hand and looking almost as shocked as Clara.

”Merry Christmas to you too, Harry,” John said, still being the only one finding this situation amusing. “I just thought I’d stop by and give you your present now since you’re leaving for Santiago tomorrow and wouldn’t let me take you to the airport.”

”About that…”

”Not going?”

”Well…” Harry’s eyes darted to Clara who turned to John and then back to Harry again, who by that time was looking at John and neither of them seemed to know even the beginning to the answer.

John held up his hands in a distancing gesture. “You don’t have to explain to me.”

”I was going to tell you that I wasn’t going,” Harry said, looking rather guilty.

”No, you weren’t,” John said, smiling. “But that’s okay.”

For a moment it looked like Harry was going to hug him, but thankfully she shook that feeling and instead she said: “So, where’s my present?”

John held out the bag he was holding. “Mary has the receipt if you don’t like it, but since you’re staying here I’m ordering you to not open it until Christmas.”

”It was Mary who picked it out and bought it, right?” Harry asked as she took the bag, grinning.

”Nope, it was Sherlock.”

Harry laughed. “I have your gift in the bedroom, wait a second.”

As soon as she left John and Clara found themselves in a very awkward silence, exchanging looks and almost shy smiles.

”Harry told me you’ve married,” Clara said to fill out the silence. “A man and a woman?”

John chuckled. “Officially and legally just the woman, but… yes.” 

”And here I thought I’d found the only queer Watson,” Clara said, smiling. Something tugged at John’s heart when he saw it, he had always liked Clara but hadn’t realised just how much until he saw her smile again.

”Make sure she’s nice to you this time,” he said seriously and quietly. “I’ll get you my new phone number.”

Clara didn’t have time do more than nod before Harry came back and John put on such an earnest smile that it would probably have fooled Sherlock Holmes.

”That took you long enough,” he said.

Harry handed him the present. ”It might not have been wrapped.”

”I’ve never understood how you get to work on time every morning,” John said, shaking his head.

”I’m a woman, I’m a mystical creature.” Harry shrugged. “There are three things in there, you’ll have no problem figuring out who should have what.”

”Please, don’t let it be sex toys,” John said, turning his eyes towards the ceiling.

”Oh, shut up.” Harry hit him lightly in the arm.

John smiled. “Merry Christmas, sis.”

”Merry Christmas.” Harry hugged him, whispering in his ear: “Don’t let me fuck it up this time.”

In reply John just held her a little tighter and a little longer than he usually would have, but if he could manage two partners he would do his very best to support Harry in managing her one.


	14. Business Christmas Party

The food was gone and the colleagues with small children at home started to drop off one by one. Lestrade had done (most of) his social rounds as he picked up two plastic – sigh – beer bottles and walked across the room to give John one of them.

”Ta,” John said, raising it in a toast.

Lestrade tapped their bottles together – the sound of plastic against plastic was depressing. “Merry Christmas.”

”I was a bit surprised by the invite.”

”It was put to a vote.” Lestrade held up two fingers. “Two votes majority.”

John chuckled. “Still surprised that the majority of you wants us here at your Christmas party.”

”Not as surprised as we are that all of you showed.”

John chuckled. “There was a bit of a discussion whether or not bigamy was appropriate to flaunt at a police party, but… in the end Mary looked up the legal definition of bigamy and by that Sherlock’s last argument was ruined.”

”And here you are.”

”And here we are.” John smiled and took a sip of his beer. “Did you ever think we’d see that, by the way?”

He pointed at a table across the room where Sherlock was sitting with his head together with Anderson. They seemed to be deep in a discussion, with Sherlock drawing things on the paper table cloth.

”That’s a Christmas Miracle if I ever saw one,” Lestrade said with a smile.

They were interrupted by a Detective Sergeant who wanted to say good bye to Lestrade before leaving and John bowed away from the conversation, promising to find Lestrade again before they left. Instead he went to find Mary who was talking to three people John only knew by their last names and ranks. He slipped quietly up by her side and put an arm around her waist. He got a quick kiss on the cheek in greeting before Mary turned her attention back to the conversation.

John wasn’t really focused on what they were talking about (something about the Winter Olympics), and instead his eyes kept wandering back to Sherlock and Anderson – a conversation he much rather would eavesdrop on – and smiled. A Christmas Miracle, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the short one today, I will do better tomorrow when I have more time (and less Hobbit planed).


	15. Christmas baking

Mary stood in Mrs Hudson’s kitchen, holding an empty measuring cup in one hand, and frowning at the instructions she read off the recipe. How on earth did you beat butter, sugar, eggs, flour and spices together? She got a crazy image in her head involving Sherlock’s riding crop, but decided to label that one as ‘Do Not Talk About’ and move on.

”Oh, I’ve already made the pudding, dear,” Mrs Hudson said, turning a couple of pages for her. “Had I known anyone in the house actually cared about Christmas this year I’d asked you to come and help me stir.”

”I’ve never made a Christmas pudding,” Mary said, looking quite guilty for saying so.

”Not even with your mum and dad?”

”No, they aren’t really the baking type.” Mary shrugged. “My grandma, and then my aunt, usually made the one we had on Christmas.”

”Now I almost feel like we need to make another one.”

Mary smiled. “We’ll do that next year. What did you plan for today?”

”I thought walnut rum balls and some almond biscuits.” Mrs Hudson pointed at the first recipe.

”The rum sounds promising.”

”You’ll bake better on whiskey than rum, dear,” Mrs Hudson said, getting down a bottle of both rum and whiskey from a cabinet.

”I never took you for a whiskey drinker, Mrs Hudson,” Mary said, laughing a bit in surprise.

”Tom, Mr Hudson that is, liked to enjoy a whiskey after dinner,” Mrs Hudson said, getting down two glasses and pouring them a small whiskey. “I learned to enjoy it with him, though these days I rarely drink it anymore.”

”Just for Christmas baking?” Mary asked, smirking, as Mrs Hudson gave her a glass.

”And when I have to calm my nerves after Sherlock blows something up.”

”So about three times a week.”

Mrs Hudson chuckled. “No, no, he’s so much better these days.”

”That says a lot.”

”It rather does, doesn’t it?” Mrs Hudson smiled. “Just imagine what he was like when I met him in Florida.”

”I think I’d rather not,” Mary said, smiling as well. “John has told me how there came to be a smiley face spray painted and shot on our sitting room wall.”

”I was going to do something about that.” Mrs Hudson shook her head, taking a sip of her whiskey and looking rather thoughtful for a moment before shrugging. “I’ll get that done for the next tenant when you three move out.”

”Why would we move out?”

”I’d imagine you’d need something bigger, eventually.” 

Mary didn’t know why she blushed, but she did and suddenly she felt very exposed. “We haven’t talked about anything like that.”

”Oh dear, I’m sorry,” Mrs Hudson reached out and patted her hand. “I didn’t mean to snoop and I’m not trying to chase you out. Gun fire and explosions aside, you’re very lovely tenants to have.”

”It’s all right,” Mary said, her cheeks slowly returning to their normal colour. “It’s just… We’re still trying to figure out a way to fit together the three of us.”

”You don’t have to explain anything to me.” Mrs Hudson shook her head slightly. “Children are not for everyone.”

”It would be fun putting an infant in Sherlock’s arms, though, just to see what happened.”

“Oh dear, that would be a sight indeed.” Mrs Hudson chuckled.

Mary smiled, emptying her whiskey. “Shall we begin?”

”Yes.” Mrs Hudson put down her glass as well and straightened both her back and her apron. “No use standing here with our aprons on if we’re just going to gossip and drink whiskey.”

”That’s for another night.”

”Exactly,” Mrs Hudson agreed, handing her a box of vanilla wafers. “Make crumbs out of these and I’ll start mixing up the other ingredients.”


	16. Christmas cleaning

“No.”

“Sherlock, you said you were going to be done today.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“When are you done, then?”

”I don’t know.”

”Sherlock.”

”Mary.”

Sherlock and Mary stared at each other, standing on opposite sides of the kitchen table. Mary had her hands on her hips, Sherlock his arms crossed over his chest. Their argument had reached their natural (and inevitable) standstill and John, pretending to read in the sitting room, counted the seconds until they both turned to him yelling:

”John!”

”I’m not at home right now,” John said from behind his book. “Please leave a message after the beep and I will get back to you as soon as you sort this out as adults.”

He heard them both sigh deeply and knew perfectly well that they were rolling their eyes at him. He didn’t mind one bit as long as he didn’t have to pick a side in another one of their territorial arguments.

”Sherlock, you promised we could put away the lab over Christmas,” Mary said, almost pleading.

”Why? I might need it for a case.”

”You know perfectly well that you only do the case-stuff at Bart’s.”

”Only since you moved in!”

John peeked up over his book, seeing both of his partners looking pretty startled by that comment.

”So…” Mary said slowly. “Since I’m staying I suppose it wouldn't be a problem to move it?”

”I- I suppose not.” Sherlock looked down at the lab equipment, tapping with a finger on the microscope.

”Good.” Mary nodded once. “I’ll get the boxes.”

Sherlock stopped tapping on the microscope. When she came back with two cardboard boxes he stepped aside and just watched as she carefully, but with great determination, started to pick apart his laboratory equipment.

”I don’t want you to move out,” Sherlock said quietly.

Mary looked up, letting go of a breath and nodding. “Good.”

Sherlock nodded as well and a moment later he started to wrap the glass in paper. They packed away the entire lab in less than fifteen minutes and carried the boxes to Sherlock’s bedroom.

”Tea?” John suggested as they came back out.

Mary and Sherlock looked at each other.

”Eggnog?” Sherlock said.

”Sounds better,” Mary said, nodding.

John smiled, turning back to his book even though he still just pretended to read it. Just a few minutes later they were all sitting around the kitchen table drinking eggnog, and John could almost swear that Mary and Sherlock were holding hands under the table.


	17. Having friends over

John and Sherlock were having a… perhaps not an argument, but at least a loud discussion about how Sherlock couldn’t steal – “For the last time: I always return it!” – John’s work mobile for case purposes, as they walked up the stairs. The… discussion was quickly silenced when they noticed that Mary wasn’t alone in the sitting room.

”I thought I heard you,” Mary said, smirking at them. “Victor, look! My men are home. The shorter one is John, but I suppose you recognise Sherlock.”

”I do,” Victor said as he got up.

There was an awkward moment consisting of Sherlock and Victor looking insecure on how to proceed and John looking between the two of them in confusion. Mary just smiled and shook her head at them.

”Victor, this is John Watson, my legal husband and Sherlock’s infamous blogger,” she said, still sitting at the table and just pointing at John. “John, this is Victor Trevor, Sherlock’s friend from uni.”

”Nice to meet you.” John still looked confused, but at least he found himself enough to reach out his hand to Victor.

”You too.”

”I thought you said didn’t have ‘friends’?” John said, winking at Sherlock.

”I don’t.”

”He doesn’t,” Victor said, half-chuckling. “It’s good seeing you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock finally smiled and he reached out his hand to his old friend. “You too. How long are you in London?”

”Just over the day,” Victor said. “But your invitation was too mysterious to not look into. I should have called first.”

”It’s fine,” all of the inhabitants of 221b Baker Street said, John sounding sincere, Mary excited and Sherlock amazed by the fact that Victor had shown up.

”So, ehm, were you two in the same class?” John asked.

”No, Victor studied history,” Sherlock said, his way of saying the subject making it clear that he had been mocking this choice for years. “We met when his dog _bit me_.”

Victor laughed at the memory. “She was an intelligent animal, that dog.”

”Not the word I would use, but…” Sherlock said, making a gesture that they should sit down. “How was the meeting? In this economic climate I can’t imagine too many people putting a lot of money into conserving – what is it? – buildings? No, furniture.”

For a moment Victor was taken off guard and looked as if he was going to ask how Sherlock knew he was in London to discuss details of a larger work contract involving the conservation of eighty chairs, then he seemed to remember Sherlock and smiled as he sat down.

”They are meeting with two others,” he just said. “They’ll get back to me at the end of the week.”

”Good.” Sherlock nodded. “Tea, anyone?”

”Have you learned to make proper tea?” Victor asked suspiciously.

”No,” both John and Mary said, shaking their heads.

Sherlock huffed. ”I’ve always made proper tea.”

”No,” the other three said. Mary got to her feet and patted Sherlock on the cheek. “I’ll do it. You sit down and catch up.”

Sherlock shook his head, but that was about as much protest he had in him and instead he sat down next to Victor. John discreetly followed Mary to the kitchen and neither Sherlock nor Victor seemed to notice that they didn’t get any tea as they sank into their memories, tentatively trying to start up a friendship they both had neglected for over a decade.


	18. Mistletoe

Molly had hung a mistletoe over the door to the morgue. There were also a star in the window, tinsel around a desk and a singing Christmas tree in the corner. Out of all the Christmas decorations Sherlock still found the mistletoe to be the most inappropriate one, but somewhere in the back of his mind he acknowledged that it was probably the one he appreciated the most just because of it.

He hadn’t seen it on his way in because it was hung on the inside – and because he had been given permission to do some experiments with dubious legality on a dead body – but as took a moment to stretch after being bent down over the body for too long his eyes fell on it. He thanked his lucky star that at least that wasn’t a Christmas tradition Mary followed. Not that she would need a mistletoe… She and John kissed almost as soon as they were in reach of each other and Mary even took the liberty to kiss Sherlock’s cheek in passing from time to time. Sherlock hadn’t quite decided what he liked about that yet.

After about an hour Sherlock could smell the scent of coffee. He looked up to find that Molly had put a coffee next to his surgical kit, but the woman herself seemed to have disappeared already. Sherlock frowned, he wasn’t used to Molly being able to get this close to him without him noticing it. It had taken him about no time at all to get that comfortable with John. Mary, though her smell had seeped into everything and anything (even Sherlock smelled of Mary these days), he was still too aware of all her movements for her to be able to sneak up on him. Molly, well, he didn’t know when she had become such an intimate part of his life, but perhaps that came with the trust of putting his life in her hands. He really didn’t want to dwell on that thought, but drank the coffee nonetheless.

”I need to lock up now,” Molly said quietly, her voice cutting through the silence and the concentration like a knife.

Sherlock stood up and stretched once more. The coffee was since long gone and when he looked at the time he realised that he had been there for almost three hours. He helped her wheel the body back to where it belonged and even though she said he didn’t have to, he still cleaned away his instruments. It probably surprised them both in equal amounts. Sherlock blamed Mary and her nagging about not leaving tea mugs everywhere.

When they were done with the cleaning up Molly took one extra round just to make sure there were no obvious traces left of Sherlock’s experiment before they headed for the door. Molly held the door open for Sherlock, probably expecting him to just waltz passed her with a ‘good bye’ as most, but he stopped in the doorway. He looked at her, then up at the mistletoe and sighed at his own sentiment before leaning down and lightly kissing her cheek.

He could hear Molly holding her breath and as the entire scenario of the morgue and Christmas and kissing Molly brought back strange memories to him he smiled.

”Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper,” he said, nodding once as a good bye, and left before she had the time to collect herself. He blamed Mary for this too.


	19. Late night eggnog

The eggnog hadn’t been much more than vodka and whiskey for the last thirty minutes or so, but they weren’t drinking it as fast anymore so it wasn’t really important. Unofficially Mary started her Christmas break today since she never had classes on Fridays (a scheduling miracle she had no idea how she had managed to be blessed with). Officially she had administrative hours tomorrow and a Christmas concert on Saturday, but neither of those things demanded her to be perfectly sober and not hung-over tomorrow morning.

John had cooked dinner, Sherlock had played violin, Mary had… walked around in her underwear and Sherlock’s red dressing gown since she got home. It had been a perfectly domestic evening. It might even have been called ‘dull’, if it hadn’t been so comfortable. Actually, it still could but for some reason it didn’t quite matter as much anymore.

”Eggnog,” Mary said, holding out her glass to Sherlock who was lying on the floor between the sofa and the coffee table, the Union Jack pillow under his head.

”You really have to stop calling it that,” Sherlock said, his hand searching for one of the bottles on the table. “You won’t get less intoxicated just because you call it ‘eggnog’.”

”Stop,” John said, leaning forward to take the whiskey bottle before Sherlock tipped it over. As a result Mary’s feet fell off his lap, almost hitting Sherlock in the face. John giggled as he sat back on the sofa, refilling Mary’s and his own glass. He held up the bottle to ask if Sherlock wanted some more and Sherlock held up his glass.

”Hold it steady,” John said as he started to tip the bottle.

”I’m holding it perfectly still,” said Sherlock. “It’s just the room that’s swaying slightly.”

John started to giggle again which resulted in him spilling on the carpet. Sherlock chuckled as well, sitting up to make it easier to pour.

”You have to clean the carpet tomorrow,” John said, his eyes fixed on the pouring.

”You were the one spilling it!”

”Only because you made me.”

”I have seen you shoot people under extreme pressure, John. Are you really trying to say that—“

”I want a baby,” Mary said.

John and Sherlock both stared at her, looking like a bucket of cold water was poured over each of them. After a moment Sherlock poked John.

”I think she’s talking to you,” he said.

Mary giggled, hiding her face in her hands and pretty soon she was laughing so hard her eyes were tearing up. John and Sherlock weren’t quite sure what to make of it.

”You should see your faces,” Mary managed to get out when the laughter had settled a bit.

”But… but do you?” John asked, looking somewhere between concerned and horrified. “Want a baby?”

Mary dried her eyes, still trying to get her breathing under control. “I don’t know, do we?”

”Why are you looking at me?” Sherlock asked. “I won’t be involved in that.”

”Like we’d make a decision like that without you,” Mary said. “Right, John?”

”I’m sorry, I’m still… Wow.”

Mary started giggling again. “Let’s put a pin in it. I don’t think this is a conversation for this blood alcohol level.”

”What would be an acceptable blood alcohol level?” Sherlock wondered.

”We should at least be allowed to drive.”

”You don’t think we are?” John chuckled.

”God, I hope not.”

”We could test it,” Sherlock said excitedly, getting up off the floor.

”No!” Mary grabbed his arm with both her hands. “Don’t you dare bring out the lab again!”

”Just one test.”

In response Mary pull Sherlock down on the sofa with the two of them (only her glass fell on the floor, John managed to save his). Somehow they all managed to find an almost comfortable position and soon Mary’s question was, if not forgotten at least properly ignored for the rest of the evening.


	20. Decorating the Christmas tree

”What are you thinking about?” Mary asked John. She was sitting on the floor, handing him and Sherlock ornaments for the Christmas tree.

”Nothing,” John said, shrugging, as he was handed another ornament. “The last time I decorated a tree.”

”When was that?”

”Afghanistan,” John said, sighing, but he smiled as he hung the small bells in the Christmas tree. “It wasn’t a real Christmas tree. I mean it wasn’t pine tree or a spruce, it was a…” He frowned. “I don’t think I ever learned the English name for it, and I can’t remember what it was in Dari, but there were lots of them around the hospital and some blokes went out and cut one down so that we could have a Christmas tree. Or at least ‘a tree for Christmas’, as they said.”

Mary and Sherlock both stared at him.

”What?” he said.

”I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talking about that freely before,” Mary said after exchanging a quick look with Sherlock, realising that he was thinking something similar.

John still looked confused. ”Talking about what?”

”Afghanistan,” Sherlock said, almost impatiently. “The war.”

”That wasn’t the war,” John protested with a chuckle. “That was… That was just something we did.”

”Tell us more about the tree,” Mary said, holding up a red bauble to Sherlock.

”There’s nothing to tell,” John said. “Some had got care packages with Christmas things in and we hung what we could in it. And someone had watched too much M*A*S*H and hung some forceps and things in it as well, but we couldn’t leave it there because… well, it looked depressing and we needed them. I can’t remember that we threw it out, but I suppose we must have.”

”Speaking of throwing out trees,” Sherlock said, stopping Mary to ask another question since John smile slowly faded as he seemed to trail off deeper into his memories. “When are we throwing out this one?”

”Can’t you let me put it up before you’re mentally getting rid of it?”

”You’re not even helping putting it up.” Sherlock gestured at her. “You’re just sitting there.”

”I’m project manager!”

And they were off in another argument. John didn’t really bother, he was too preoccupied trying to remember the name of the tree he had once made a star out of cardboard and tinfoil for. Later, when the argument was settled and the tree was done, John squeezed Sherlock’s hand as a silent thank you for picking a fight with their wife. Sherlock squeezed it back, smiling a smile which could only mean ‘My pleasure’.


	21. Christmas concert

John and Sherlock sank down on a bench in the far back of the P.E. hall which had been converted into a theatre for the school’s Christmas concert this evening. The noise level was close to unbearable while parents and siblings slowly filled the hall, trying to find their way to empty seats. Mary had been there getting things ready since early this morning, but how she had lured John and Sherlock to come would forever be a mystery to them.

The clock on the wall said that they were already seven minutes late to start and Sherlock felt a headache slowly creeping up on him. This was going to be a long night.

About twenty minutes after schedule Mary came on stage. Both John and Sherlock sat up straighter when they saw her, John even smiled with not a small amount of pride.

”Welcome, everyone,” Mary said, the mike protesting with a screeching sound. The entire room flinched, Mary included, but she tried again. “Hi, there. That sounds better. Welcome, everyone, to North Lunar Park Elementary School’s Christmas concert.”

She went on telling everyone about the emergency exists, how glad she was to see them all there, how hard the pupils had worked on this performance, and that she hoped they’d all enjoy the show. Sherlock muttered something incomprehensible and John, though he thought he’d probably agree with Sherlock this once, decided to ignore it.

The concert turned out to be a concert in not much more than name. A choir sang a lot of Christmas carols, there were some readings of Christmasy poetry and the older students presented some work they had done on December holidays. There was some dancing and some more music, but thankfully at least not a nativity play.

As five children started to abuse their violins, pretending to play _Silent Night_ , Sherlock was about to crawl out of his skin. John reached out and put his hand on the back of his neck, just beneath the hairline, and started to massage him. Sherlock let his head tip forward, moaning quietly as the added pressure increased the blood flow and made him relax.

”Migraine?” John whispered after a while.

Sherlock shook his head. “Don’t stop.”

John smiled, both relieved that it wasn’t a migraine attack and amused how compliant Sherlock seemed to be in this moment, and kept his hand on Sherlock’s neck for the reminder of the performances. When it ended they both dutifully applauded and got to their feet to not block the flow of people trying to get up and out or to find their children to tell them just how wonderful they were.

John and Sherlock found Mary just in front of the stage where she was standing next to another teacher at the school, talking to group of parents and children. She smiled, looking happy and still full of energy.

”Hi,” she said, breaking away just a little from the group so that she could give John’s cheek a kiss and Sherlock’s hand a squeeze. “I’m glad you came. What did you think?”

”It was terrific,” John said, answering for them both since Sherlock was too busy not rolling his eyes. John turned to the children standing around them. “You were all great.”

”Who are you?” a girl about eight years old asked.

”I’m John,” he said.

”He’s my husband,” Mary said in what Sherlock could only assume was her Explanatory Teacher Voice.

”And who’s he?” a boy said, pointing at Sherlock. 

”A friend of John and Mary’s,” Sherlock answered before the other two had the chance to even think about the question. The answer on the other hand made them both frown slightly, but neither of them jumped in to correct him because they didn’t know what the right word would be. They just instinctively knew ‘friend’ wasn’t the right one.

As Mary wrapped up with all the children and her colleagues John discreetly locked their little fingers together, making sure their joint hands where shield off by the rest of the people there.

”We need to find another word,” John whispered. “You’re not a friend. You’re… our husband.”

”They are just words,” Sherlock said. “What we call each other in front of Mary’s pupils and colleagues doesn’t matter or change what we are.”

John looked at him, almost believing that he meant what he said. Just almost. He took a better grip of Sherlock’s hand and squeezed it hard.

”We _will_ find a better word,” he said. “I promise.”


	22. Last minute shopping

”We should have done this earlier,” John said, sighing deeply, as he and Sherlock made their way through half-panicked and over-stressed Christmas shoppers in the hopes of finding something to give to Mary. 

”Exchanging Christmas gifts is a very tiresome tradition,” Sherlock said, not really listening at him as he scrutinised an espresso machine which, according to its sign, was a must in every kitchen. “And the fact that this season’s hysteria doesn’t result in more people going on killing sprees is a true ‘Christmas miracle’.”

John chuckled. “Don’t sound so disappointed.”

”Let’s just buy something and get back home.”

”Yes, but what?” John sighed, lifting up a strangely designed pitcher. “Jewellery?”

”The idea that women like jewellery and things that sparkle is a socially constructed bias, one I do not think Mary submits to,” Sherlock said, finally turning his back to the espresso machine. “Do you?”

”Not really.” John sighed again. “What, then?”

”I’d say you’d know her better than I do.”

John smirked, nudging Sherlock with the shoulder as they walked out of the store. “You mean there are things that the Extraordinary Sherlock Holmes misses while the very Ordinary John Watson notices?”

”No one is infallible and there are things which you are better positioned to learn.” Sherlock shrugged. “For example, I didn’t know that she had tattoo on her hip until last month.”

”Yes,” John said, chuckling. “I found that one the second day we knew her.”

Sherlock froze and his eyes narrowed as he looked at John. “The case was four days long.”

”What?”

” _The_ case. _Mary’s_ case. It lasted four days.”

”Ehm… Yes, it did,” John said, suddenly becoming very interested in the window display.

”John.”

”Mm?”

”You jeopardies the case by sleeping with our client.”

John met Sherlock’s stern eyes. It was hard to keep serious and not laugh at how insulted Sherlock looked. “I will never do it again,” John said.

Sherlock snorted. “It shouldn’t have happened at all.”

”But it turned out quite all right, right?”

”That’s beside the point. You jeopardised the case to have sex, that’s not acceptable.”

”I’m sorry, Sherlock.”

”Let’s just buy something and go home.” Sherlock took a deep breath, but not really letting go of any of his irritation. He pointed at random at something in the window. “Let’s buy her that.”

John chuckled when he saw what Sherlock pointed at. ”That comes with some implications, you know.”

”I suppose so,” Sherlock said, still frowning, but now he looked more thoughtful than annoyed when he realised what he had pointed at. “What do you say?”

John looked surprised at Sherlock. “Are you serious?”

”I’m not sure.”

They kept looking at the gift for a long time before John finally nodded. “Did we just make a decision?”

”I think we did.” Sherlock shook his head at how insane this was. “And if nothing else this will probably get us out of ever buying Christmas presents for her ever again.”

John chuckled. This could end up being the best or the worst Christmas present in history.


	23. Going home for Christmas

Sherlock had his hands deep in his pockets as he walked two steps ahead of John and Mary. John and Mary had tried to walk next to him at first, but Sherlock had increased his stride just enough to keep his distance every time they had caught up so they had stopped trying.

”You didn’t have to come,” Sherlock said as they stopped at a traffic light and Sherlock had to let them catch up.

”We know we didn’t _have_ to come,” Mary said. “We want to come.”

”Why?”

”Because it’s important to you.”

Sherlock huffed.

John realised something. ”Do you want to do this alone, Sherlock?” 

Sherlock seemed to take the question into consideration, but ended up shaking his head just as the light turned and he crossed the road. Mary and John followed and he waited for them on the other side.

”I want to do this,” Sherlock said. “It doesn’t matter if you do it with me or not.”

”Then we’ll do it with you,” Mary said. John nodded behind her.

Sherlock smiled briefly, starting to walk again and this time making sure he kept the same pace as John and Mary.

”Why do you go on the 23rd?” Mary asked to break the silence.

”Most shelters are overflown by volunteers on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, sometimes even on Boxing Day,” Sherlock said. “A mostly empty gesture by people trying to make themselves feel superior by being more generous and giving than everyone else. Not that I can claim to be above it as I only ever volunteer my time at Christmas as well, just not on the days actually earmarked for the holiday.”

”Sherlock,” John put his hand on Sherlock’s upper arm. “You do a lot. I’m sure you do more for the homeless of London every day than the average person do during a lifetime.”

”That doesn’t say much, does it,” Sherlock said. “Seeing as ‘the average person’ doesn’t do much more than pretend that we aren’t there.”

”Sherlock, you’re not homeless,” John said. 

Sherlock shrugged.

”You do a lot,” John said again.

They turned a corner and Sherlock nodded at a green door on the other side of the street. “There it is.”

The shelter looked insignificant. It was well maintained (probably partly due to Sherlock’s money) but anonymous. They stood looking at it for a moment, the reality of Sherlock’s past suddenly coming them a little too close.

”Do you still want us here?” John asked.

Sherlock kept looking at the door, again taking the question into consideration, contemplating if he actually wanted to share this part of his life with John and Mary.

”Do _you_ still want to be here?” Sherlock asked without looking at them.

”Yes,” both John and Mary said, sounding so sure about this that Sherlock could do nothing but nod. It settled it.

”Then I suggest we’ll go inside,” he said. He looked right, left and then right again before crossing the empty street and he hurried up the two steps to the front door to ring the doorbell before Mary and John had got there.

”Merry Christmas,” a female voice said in a speaker phone next to the door. “What can I do for you today?”

Sherlock pressed a button and talked into the microphone. “I’m Sherlock Holmes, I’m here to—“ 

He didn’t get any further before he heard the locks on the door (three plus a safety chain, if he counted correctly) being turned and soon enough the green door opened, letting light, Christmas music and the scent of Goulash soup out into the street.

”Mr Holmes!” the woman said, smiling from ear to ear. “We didn’t expect you until this evening. And you brought some friends.”

She looked at John and Mary with the same welcoming smile, clearly measuring them up to see if they Sherlock had brought them there to stay or to help out.

”Yes, this is Mary Morstan and John Watson,” Sherlock said, nodding at his companions.

”We’re Sherlock’s home,” John said as he reached out to shake the woman’s hand. The three of them exchanged a smile, the woman nodding as if she might understand and stepped aside to let them in. ‘Home’ wasn’t the word they had been looking for at Mary’s concert, but in this situation it worked absolutely perfect.


	24. Christmas party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for being late, but being Swedish and all that means that today is The Day when it comes to Christmas and... time has been an issue.
> 
> Merry Christmas to you all, no matter when (or if) you celebrate it!
> 
> * * *

”This is why we don’t throw Christmas parties.”

”Sherlock.” John shook his head. “Just don’t.”

They were sitting in the waiting area at the A&E, or John and Mary were sitting while Sherlock was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, looking out a window. The Christmas part, which Mary had insisted on and which had started out really well, had ended in bloodshed.

”It’s not that serious,” Sherlock said. “You would even have been able to sew that up, John.”

”Thanks?”

”You know what I mean.”

John sighed. He looked at Mary, who was looking rather pale, and took her hand. “He’s right though. It wasn’t a serious cut.”

”One of the guests at our Christmas party ended up in the A&E,” Mary said. “That’s not how it’s supposed to work.”

”Technically it didn’t happen at the party,” Sherlock said.

”Technically you weren’t supposed to go into Mrs Hudson’s backyard and try mixing different kinds of gunpowder and tobacco.”

”How on earth did you ever convince Lestrade to do that, anyway?” John wondered.

”It’s one of his cold cases,” Sherlock said, waving his hand to tell them that it wasn’t important. “We’ve been working on it for over ten years now. I thought I had a new lead.”

John and Mary looked at him with tired amazement.

”I’m sorry,” Sherlock said. “Is that what you want me to say? I’m sorry I ruined the idiotic Christmas party by sending Lestrade to the A&E.”

Mary reached out and took his hand. “Greg will be all right. Both of you say it’s nothing to worry about.”

Sherlock huffed. ”What do I know?”

”Well,” John said, smiling with at least a hint of professional satisfaction. “ _I_ do know that it’s nothing to worry about. It just needed to be cleaned out properly – God knows what you two managed to get in there – and then stitched up, and I couldn’t do neither at home. That’s why we’re here.”

Sherlock huffed again, but didn’t argue. Not much later Lestrade came to them, his hand in a bandage, and declared that he was free to leave.

One their way out Lestrade held John back for a moment. “Can you promise me one thing?” he said.

”If it’s to not have Christmas parties ever again, I think that’s a given,” John said, smiling slightly embarrassed. “A trip to the morgue and one to the A&E isn’t a very good track record.”

Lestrade chuckled. “I wasn’t going to be quite so extreme, have all the Christmas parties you like, but… please don’t invite me again?”


	25. Christmas Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas all of you celebrating today! (And I hope those of you celebrating yesterday aren't too hung over.)
> 
> Thank you all for the encouragement throught out this calender. 
> 
> A Happy New Fandom Year to all of you!
> 
> * * *

Sherlock was unpacking the only boxes he really cared about: his kitchen lab. Mary had allowed him to do it after they’d had Christmas dinner and opened all their presents and now he was carefully setting up the lab on the kitchen table again. He hummed _Let it snow_ as he adjusted the burette on its stand.

John watched him, smiling fondly, from the sitting room for a while. He walked over, refilling Mary’s tea mug before he sat down on the sofa with her and pulled her close.

He kissed her temple. “Freaking out?”

”Yes.” Mary held up the yellow bear holding a baby rattle. ”Could we even have a baby?”

”I suppose you’re not talking biologically.”

Mary looked up at him, turning around so that she was lying almost on top of him. “No, I’m talking body parts in the kitchen, arsenic in the tea cabinet, illegal handguns lying around, cases stretching for days…”

”Things can change.”

”Do we want them to?”

Both of them turned to the kitchen where Sherlock was still humming _Let it snow_ but by the sound of it he was done unpacking and had started on one of the experiments he had been longing to do since they put away the lab.

”He would probably be a better parent than the two of us together,” Mary said.

”Does it bother you?”

”Yes.” Mary chuckled. “No, not really.”

John kissed her, twiddling with her hair. Sherlock came out from the kitchen, shaking his head at them as he always did when they took up the entire sofa.

”Having fun?” Mary asked him.

”I’m not playing,” he said.

”Right.”

”We have another present for you,” Sherlock said.

Mary looked between John and Sherlock who just exchanged looks, smirking. ”If you have turned Sherlock’s room into a nursery…”

John and Sherlock said nothing, but John and Mary got off the sofa. Sherlock took Mary’s hand and lead her towards the kitchen.

”You haven’t turned the room into a nursery, right?” Mary said, sounding a bit unsure.

They stopped in the door to the kitchen. Sherlock had, as they had heard, put the lab back on the table, but with the additionally safety screens around all sides. There were childproofing locks on the lower door of the fridge and two of the upper cabinets, both of those marked _Chemicals_.

”We will get an arms locker for John’s gun delivered after we get back from Stockholm,” Sherlock said. “We couldn’t buy that one since it would be admitting to John actually having a something to lock away in there, but… Mycroft has his uses.”

”What is… why?” Mary said, smiling as she already knew the answer to her questions as she looked around her slightly remodelled kitchen. “You know I was drunk when I said that thing, right?”

”Yes,” Sherlock said.

”We’re not saying we should have a child,” John said. “We’re just saying we’re open to the conversation.”

”And moderate change.”

Mary smiled, still shaking her head in slight disbelief. “I love you, both of you.”

John and Sherlock smiled, Sherlock stunned because she’d never said that to him before. John leaned in and kissed her cheek.

”Thank you for giving us Christmas, Mary.”


End file.
